


Why They Fought the War

by plumandfinch



Series: Why They Fought the War [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6451537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumandfinch/pseuds/plumandfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows exactly the kind of mother she’d be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

1.

They discuss it. Correction; they Discuss it. Often. Over many months. They both have concerns but she finds herself idly conjuring a tow headed toddler with Steve’s eyes. And isn’t this why they fought the war?

\--

“I won’t be able to keep working,” she says without preamble on a brisk fall evening. They’re staking out a suspect and keeping close for warmth. He shifts, the leather car seat creaking under him.

“We can-” he starts

“Work it out?” she finishes sharply. She gives a brisk shake of her curls indicating that the topic, so briefly open, is now closed.

\--

It is long past midnight when she lets herself quietly into the apartment to find him at the dining room table, head in his hands.

“Flynn didn’t make it.” he says so quietly she almost doesn’t hear him.

She sits and winds her hand around his arm, warm and solid. Her fingertips light back and forth over the soft inside of his wrist.

“I went,” he swallows, “to tell Molly. I asked if I could go.”

The small ornamental clock in the living room softly chimes the quarter hour as they sit.

“Bridget is only two weeks old.”

She folds then, leaning her forehead against his. There are some things that they do not need to say.

\--

There is an explosion and they are left picking shrapnel out of their hair, Peggy sporting a gash from knee to hip. She limps through triage, through their debrief, and all the way back to their apartment.

He resists the urge to scoop her up upon pushing the door open. He hovers until she hisses at him to put the kettle on and by the time he comes back with a steeping cup of builder’s tea in her favorite heavy mug, she is washed, changed, and tucked into her side of the bed. He deposits her tea on the nightstand and busies himself by fixing the comforter until her hand grabs his.

“Steve, please say what it is you have to say.”

Their hands stay intertwined as he perches on the edge of the bed.

“Peg.” There is a pause.

“Good start.”

He sighs. “Peg, I know we’ve been talking about having a family and I gotta say, I just gotta say it, that nights like this have got me thinking. Maybe-”

She sits up, wincing, and presses her free hand to his cheek. “Too late.”

“What?”

“Too late, Agent Rogers. The ship has sailed, the horse has left the stable, the rooster has flown the coop. Or is it a chicken?”

Her eyes are decidedly bright and she looks more nervous than he’s ever seen her.  
  


“ _What_ ?”  
  


“Steve!” Now there is a clear wobble in her voice. “For goodness sake, I’m pregnant. We’re having a ba-”

 ****  
She winces again, just for a second, as he throws his arms around her. Then they are both laughing and crying and he grabs her face in his hands and kisses her soundly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not how he thought it would end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ok, this is where this story actually started. I can’t help the way my treacherous brain works. It’s…heavy…feel free to skip it and wait for Chapter 3.
> 
> For HL.

2.

This is not how he thought it would end. 

 

With the two of them kneeling on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, her forehead pressed against his clavicle.  

 

He has always thought that when she cries, it is as though something inside her has broken.

 

She cries now, intermittently, and her breaths turn to groans that she grits out past clenched teeth. She was groaning when she finally called him awake, sitting up on the edge of their bed, hands tangled in the comforter, wild fear in her eyes.  

 

It wasn’t long after they moved into their apartment that they realized the beauty of having a visiting nurse living two doors down. Steve is unspeakably thankful for her now. Ann is quiet but firm and reassuring although she takes one look at Peggy upon arriving, in her nightgown and robe, and admits there’s nothing much she can do but wait with them.

 

He has never felt more helpless in his entire life, alternating between pressing light kisses into her hairline and rubbing circles along her back. At some point during the endless wait, Ann presses a cool washcloth into his hand and he dabs at her flushed face.

 

Peggy starts to shake so he wraps his arms around her shoulders and holds on until Ann touches her on the arm and quietly says that it’s over. She cries again then, loud, jagged gasps and all he can do is hang on.

 

He is dispatched back out to their bedroom for a fresh nightgown and notices idly that Ann also changed the sheets and remade the bed with her nurse’s crisp precision. When he pads back into the bathroom, he catches the tail end of a conversation that includes a tearful mention of the word “fault”.

 

They get her back into bed and after seeing Ann to the door, he crawls in and wraps himself completely around her. They don’t talk about it much, after that interminable night, but it’s then she starts to drink more routinely.

 

\--

He finally stammers his way to a complete sentence. “It’s just that I think that you’re drinking too much since losing th-”

 

Well, almost a complete sentence. The sharp sound that the flat of her hand makes when it connects with his jaw stuns them both. She wobbles as she steps back from him, equal parts furious and terrified. His wounded look reminds her of when she shot at him; she remembers feeling brazen and invincible.

 

That Peggy seems a stranger now.

“How dare you. I’m  _ fine _ ,” she grits out, taking care not to slur the words.

 

“Peg,” he says resignedly, rubbing his jaw. “Please, just talk to me.”

 

She raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I have nothing to say.” Almost as an afterthought she picks up her crystal tumbler off the side table - a wedding present from her aunt - and dashes it against the far wall, shimmering splinters of crystal and whiskey mingling in the shocked silence that follows the crash.

 

She doesn’t meet his eyes again but repeats her last declaration to the mess.

 

“I do not have anything to say.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His favorite picture of them sits on his desk; Peggy in a vibrant blouse and her favorite wide-legged slacks, eyebrow cocked and one hand on her hip, her other arm slung around Ilsa’s waist.

3. **  
**

His favorite picture of them sits on his desk; Peggy in a vibrant blouse and her favorite wide-legged slacks, eyebrow cocked and one hand on her hip, her other arm slung around Ilsa’s waist.

Ilsa had been just under one and was looking at him, deliciously pudgy and wriggly, caught in the middle of a giggle.

Peggy had rolled over in their bed that morning and declared that they would use the rare fact that neither of them were working to have a family outing.  It is a mild day but the sun is warm and it isn’t until they roll out the blanket and take off their shoes that he remembers how much she loves the sea.

They fall asleep - his girls - Ilsa covered in a light towel and curled into Peggy’s chest. He packs away the remains of lunch and cautiously slides next to them.

\--

After she throws the glass, it had taken a little over two weeks of bitter silence before one night she turns over and curls into him, whispering her apologies into his shoulder.

She doesn’t tell him right away when she is pregnant again. They fight about it, even though he understands. 

They are on a mission when he finds out. The suspect they’ve been tracking is finally cornered in an abandoned warehouse and as soon as the second team arrives to finish the arrest, she shakily bolts for the door and throws up fairly spectacularly into an empty barrel outside.

She’s standing with her hands on her hips, breathing heavily, when he finds her. “Well,” she says with an air of long-suffering, “this is ridiculous.”

It becomes an oft-repeated phrase. When her slacks won’t zip up; when she starts to become ungainly; when he tries to assemble the crib; when a rookie agent makes dangerous assumptions and takes all of her case files; when she comes home to find Howard and Phillips at her dining room table talking what, at first, seems like nonsense about starting an entirely new organization; when Steve is assigned a mission a week before the baby is due.

His bag is sitting by the door, next to their hospital bag, as she makes sure to point out when she pads by.  He packs a few last things and then finds her settled on their bed, having commandeered all of the pillows and several couch cushions.

“Comfortable?”

He receives a raised eyebrow in lieu of a verbal response as he nestles in next to her, laying his hand over her hip in the way that still makes her shiver.

“I wish you weren’t going,” she finally admits aloud, lightly tracing his jawline with her fingertips.

“I’m sorry, Pegs. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He leans down, “Hear that, in there? You’re going to have to wait until I get back. Don’t give your mother any trouble.”

He looks back up at her just in time to watch the first tear track down her cheek.

“Oh Peg, honey. Please don’t; please don’t cry.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s this bloody ridiculous being pregnant nonsense.”   

“Ah. So now it’s _bloody_ ridiculous.”

This at least elicits a watery giggle and he leaves with promises of his quick return.

He does almost miss it, in the end. He finds, when he opens the door of their apartment, a distraught Howard who was left behind at Peggy's request to wait for him. Howard drives like a lunatic and they make it in enough time for Steve to wear a consistent track into the floor before he’s finally ushered in and everything changes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He counts five of them from his position behind his normally spotless desk.

4.

 

He counts five of them from his position behind his normally spotless desk. Now it is scattered with debris and shards of glass. If he leans just slightly to the left, he can catch Peggy’s eye - also crouched behind her desk. She gives him a firm nod and the sight of her, one hand wrapped around her revolver and the other protectively around her rounded stomach makes the blood thrum in his ears.  He checks his gun, releases the catch on the underside of his desk and is over the top, hurling his shield, shooting, and punching in a whirl. He’s always been a clean fighter (he has Peggy to thank for that, she taught him everything he knows). The last intruder gets kneed directly into the wall, leaving a sizable dent and there is finally some quiet. 

 

There, he’s got them, he thinks, free hand on his hip,  _ one, two, three, four _ ...and it’s then that he hears the unmistakable metallic click of a bullet being chambered. Heart in his throat, he turns in time to see Peggy struggling to stand, her gun already surrendered on the top of her desk, the fifth intruder directly behind her.

 

There are no theatrics and somehow, this makes it worse. From his frozen position across the room, he can barely hear the man hiss at her. 

 

“You stupid bitch, you think you can stop us?” 

 

Steve’s mind has gone absolutely blank, all he can do is watch her. The man grabs her curls and yanks her head back which makes him suck in a breath and step towards them. The intruder swings his gun towards Steve. 

 

“I don’t think so, Captain. You’re not saving your slut.”

 

Peggy is in motion before he can even blink. She knocks the gun out of his hand, slams her foot into his instep, elbows him in the face, and flips him. He’s two steps closer to them when she leans over, grabs the gun off her desk, and shoots the intruder perfunctorily in the kneecap.   

 

Her voice only shakes a little when he reaches her. “Bitch I don’t always mind, but I do hate being called a whore.” 

 

\--

 

There are Rules; just a couple that keep the Rogers household running like a tight ship and at the forefront is the longstanding ban on the little one being allowed in their bed. Tonight, the instigator of many of the Rules doesn’t say a thing when she comes out from the bathroom after a blessedly long bath to find Ilsa already asleep, burrowed into Steve’s side. She does raise an eyebrow when he bashfully catches her gaze as she slowly climbs into bed. There’s a moment of cautious rearranging before they are, all three, settled. 

 

Steve reaches over their sleeping daughter and gently rubs her arm. “I know, I know, the Rules. I just wanted everyone where I can see them tonight.”

 

It is quiet again for awhile, the only sound the soothing rhythm of his hand tracing the same pattern over and over. 

 

She yawns, “I called Howard already, he’s flying in first thing to review security protocol. And I do feel better with the extra detail on the house.” 

 

She shifts a little bit and smiles suddenly at him. She moves his hand down to her belly where he can feel the echo of movement and it’s then he finally seems to unknot. 

 

She takes his hand again and brings it up to her face to she can grace a kiss on his palm before settling it back around her waist. Snuggling closer to Ilsa, she catches his eye one last time. 

 

“All right, darling?”

 

“All right.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s paler than he would like but she’s beaming at the slumbering bundle lying on her chest.

5\. 

She’s paler than he would like but she’s beaming at the slumbering bundle lying on her chest. 

“Well, I think this will do, Mr. Rogers.”

He leans over and gently runs his hand over the fine layer of peach fuzz on the baby’s head.

“Is that so, Mrs. Rogers?”

She hums her assent. “We’re already outnumbered, darling. Think what another one would do.”

After a quick glance out into the hall, he stretches himself out cautiously on the edge of her bed. “Well, at least our kids are well-behaved. Not like those O’Connor’s down the street. Michael’s gonna pick up some bad habits of we let him keep playing around with them.”

She wearily nestles into his side. “Mmmm, the O’Connor’s. They’re like a roving gang. And how many of them are there exactly? One never knows. I know it was their oldest who broke the garage window.”

Neither says, but he knows they’re both thinking about that night, when shattering glass woke them and, hearts hammering, they enacted the Plan.

Michael had only been three months old when Peggy came home one night to find Steve pacing the house, muttering. She waited until both the kids were in bed before coming back down into the living room and tucking herself against his broad back as he stared out the window, hands on his hips.

“This is about the ambassador’s children, isn’t it?”

There had been an incident; two girls taken right from an embassy’s backyard. There had been talk of ransom and a failed rescue mission. She had locked the door to her office for an hour before she was composed enough to carry on with her duties. Steve had taken an early day.

She feels the muscles in his shoulders tighten. He doesn’t say anything but he lays his hands over hers where they are resting on his chest.

“I just want to keep them safe.”

So the night the brick goes through the garage window, they enact the Plan; Steve has Ilsa and his shield, Peggy has Michael and her gun. All this fuss over the oldest O’Connor kid, who Steve swears afterwards he saw running down the street.

“What a hoodlum,” Peggy wearily proclaims over a three a.m. restorative cup of tea.

–

The newest Rogers scrunches her face and nuzzles her face into Peggy’s chest as Steve idly takes one of her miniature hands in his.

“Are you counting her fingers again? Don’t be daft, we only produce perfect offspring.”

He smiles then and leans down to drop a line of kisses on her temple.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a little bit of a head the year Ilsa turns fifteen.

6.

Things come to a little bit of a head the year Ilsa turns fifteen. 

“Home economics? _Home economics_.”

“Mum, give it a rest, I’m also the only girl in Physics.”

“But-”

She feels Steve’s hand over hers. “Honey, that sounds great.”

“Alice says that the traditional feminine arts are still important.”

“Alice,” Peggy mutters through her clenched teeth, “of course.”

Steve sighs.

The pesky O’Connor’s had moved out when Sarah was just under two and in moved the Larsons with their only daughter Alice, whom they promptly enrolled in the private school that the Rogers children also attended.

( _He had protested immediately, arms crossed, at her suggestion. “Private school, Peg? I don’t know”_

_She gave her many and varied points, among them the school’s student body - mostly children of politicians, high ranking civil servants, diplomatic corps, and the city’s three security agencies - the proximity to their newly purchased home, and the multitude of security measures already in place._

_He sulks for the rest of the day but by the time he slides into their bed after tucking both of the kids in, she knows he’s come to her side._ )

In truth, Alice is a lovely girl; polite, fairly smart, unendingly loyal to Ilsa, kind to Michael and Sarah, both of whom adore her without question.

Even Peggy liked her until the girls get into their teenage years and Alice Larson becomes the paragon of femininity.

“Peg,” Steve ventures one night, “is this sudden aversion to Alice about you and not Ilsa?”

The decisive thud of her briefing folder is followed by, “I do not have the faintest idea what you could be talking about.” Which he realizes sounds somehow both icy and resigned.

The house settles around them in the quiet.

She sighs. “I don’t really mind Alice. She’s lovely. I just worry about her influence.” He takes her hand and they sit in the silence again for awhile. “She does make me feel worn out. Well, everything does these days.”

He leans over to drop a kiss in the soft spot behind her ear.

“That settles it, Director Rogers. I’m taking you on a vacation.”

“Steve! We just went on a vacation.”

“That was not a vacation, Pegs. That was a mission disguised as a vacation. No, I’m saying a real one.”

She leans her head against his with another sigh and says very quietly. “Could it be near the sea?”

“Of course, the sea.”

–

Some ten months later, David Carter Rogers is born.

“This is truly the last one, Steven.”

“Yes, ma’am.”


End file.
